From his own parent's grasp, Kyle could see the transformation happening in Joanne: a maternal evolution he'd come to know firsthand when it happened to Roberta, and now he was being forced to relive those early stages, only by a taller, plumper, and even more abrasive mirror-image of the woman who'd started this taboo revolution. He shivered, empathetically experiencing the same terrors and dizziness all over again with Tommy.

            "Case in point..." Joanne continued. "You never really did take to my boobies, now did ya, Tommy? All this goodness, right here in front of you, and you're not even tempted to peek? Such a waste. But, I suppose every man has his different vices. Well, I've got plenty of those for you to choose from, and more of them than you could ever handle on those other girls anyway. Listen, I didn't want to hurt your feelings at the time, sweetie, but that thing you married looked more like a stick-bug than a woman. Not a damn thing to grab onto, I imagine. I promise you'll never have that problem with me, though. I'm a whole smorgasbord for you, honey-pie. So if you're not a boob-man, I guess by default you must be more of an ass-man, huh? I may have packed on a pound or two since I gave birth to you, but at least it all went to the best places."

            She stood, causing the chair more incredible strain as it creaked and then rose by an inch, no longer weighed down under that planetary ass. With a final wink to her son, Joanne swung Tommy around to the backdoor of her immense frame, dangling him above the waistband of her fat-bulging jeans. Even standing up straight, the woman's overly-juicy rump threatened to pop out the top of her pants. Her free hand snatched the beltline and started shimmying it down an inch at a time.

            One slight tilt forward, and the swollen curve of her upper cheeks, plus the hint of a plumber's crack, peeked over the horizon of her jeans. The twin slabs of her ass jiggled like water beds with each tug on the denim and silk garments, liberating her puffy cellulite-rich flanks from their too-taut blue prison. With more of her heavy derriere on display now, everyone in the room, though especially Tommy due to his hanging front-row seat, was treated to a view of slick leftover sweat greased over the stretch marks and more than a few flinch-worthy moles that by comparison did indeed make the bump over Joanne's smile seem like a "beauty" mark.

            The giantess kept her boy pinched just an inch over the summit of her booty now, previewing for him the shadowy line bisecting the flab, darkened by years of friction against pants at least a size too small for her more-than ample assets. Her jeans and panties were worked down to the equator, letting more of her excess pudge hang over the sliding waistband, but even worse, giving her whole frumpy keister room to relax, widening the crack. Still, no matter how much of his mother's perspiring cheek-flesh he saw peeled slowly apart by the persistent wiggling of her beastly frame, Tommy noticed yet more fat-ass volume even deeper, especially at the center, where her cheeks were thickest and the light couldn't quite penetrate the horrific void. The boy had never been this petrified, frozen rigid as the beefy masses spread further apart below.

            "Yes, I do believe we have a winner here," Joanne affirmed to herself, roughly massaging her boy's stiff nethers with her thumb. "I have to give you fair warning though, sweetie. Not every ass is perfect, even though you might be tempted to feel that way, once you come around to our way of thinking... but I do tend to pass a little gas now and again. If I had to pick one flaw, that'd be it. But who doesn't fall prey sometimes, ya know? Just keep that in mind, sweetie, while you're busy remembering all your mama has done for you, and is going to continue doing, just as soon as you get your little head on straight."

            With that, Joanne's clubby fingers, and her helpless shrunken passenger, dove for the sweat-pickled divide of her crack. She didn't waste much time easing him in tweak by tweak like she'd done with her bosom either, but popped the three-inch lad betwixt her pale cheek meat with two jabs and one corkscrew-twist to power past the grossly inflated corpulence. Her determination showed, and even once Joanne had buried her son at the deepest possible depth of her backside trench, she scraped him down the curve, obviously hunting for a particular location using the diminutive naked body of her boy as a guide. Feeling a bump, when Tommy's little skull was massaged over the balloon-tie portal of her asshole, Joanne at last paused in this full-handed dig through her trunk, and smiled at each of the other couples in turn.

            Inside, the boy was mildly grateful to come to a halt, since at least it meant his mom couldn't wipe his face along any more of the itchy stray hairs that lined the deepest portion of her butt crack like deep-sea coral. Of course, right as his body met the sweat-dampened plughole of an anus the size of his head, Tommy went right back to wishing she'd treat him like toilet paper again and sweep his helpless three-inch self up and down the squishy curve, if only so he wouldn't have to experience such direct contact with the precisely last place on his mother's body he'd ever wish to touch, let alone bump his lips against while Joanne's clammy fingers clunkily rubbed him at the sweet spot. Despite still being in the same room with all the forward-thinking giant ladies and their gloomy mini-men, Tommy felt like he'd been transported to a rainforest with 200% humidity, and of course accompanied by fittingly animalistic smells, like acrid sweat and stale carnivorous flesh.

            Hoping his mother might think she got her awful message across sooner rather than later, the boy was accosted in the musky wall-to-wall glute canyon by a cacophony of high-pitched snickers from Joanne. On the contrary, rather than backtracking, she was savoring the tantalizing micro-sensations of her son tickling her taint hairs and especially the puckered drain, which was steadily loosening in response to the stimulus of Tommy's face. Then her fingers began to retract, and though the boy panicked at first, feeling his mother's chubby grip relent and leave him in the spongy embrace of her big-bottomed crevice, it quickly became clear that this move was not in error. In the absence of Joanne's hand to pry apart the chunkiest brawn of her cheeks, plus her panties and jeans yanking back up the way they'd come, Tommy was hopelessly overpowered by the encroaching valley of balmy, rancidly aromatic cellulite. The combined density of Joanne's caboose sealed him in the center as though slamming shut a very thick-spined book.

            With her living accessory in place and her ill-fitted clothing pulled back up, Joanne happily pounced back into her chair with even more confident force than she'd had upon entering the room, and that was saying something. The chair squeaked from the weight again, but was easily drowned out by her asshole itself, trumpeting a thunderclap of a fart that caused every man and woman of all sizes present to jolt in their seats like a horror movie jump-scare. As was only right, though, this enormous rip was experienced most egregiously by the boy forcibly camped right over the unholy source. Little space though there was to operate while coddled by the pudginess of Joanne's settled-in cheeks, the gale force of Joanne's gas blew her son's hair back, to say nothing of the brackish fog she'd just shotgunned into his tiny lungs.

            "Well, I think a hearty ‘excuse me' is in order. Apologies, everybody," the woman brassily declared, though a half-smile suggested her sorrow for the faux pas was scant at best. She rocked her stout hindquarters side to side in the buckling chair, once again alternately swelling and pancaking each abominable butt cheek as she wriggled Tommy into a more desirable place, baritone-giggling all the while. Joanne was plainly having the absolute best time of her life, a tragic contrast to the salty, fart-flavored hell her son was surely enduring for the first of many occasions going forward.

            Kyle watched every grisly detail of this affair with his heart in his throat, constantly believing he couldn't be more mortified, right up until Joanne proved him wrong again. As the couples "therapy" session wore chaotically on, it was becoming more difficult for the six-inch boy to see this kindred spirit of Roberta's as a human woman, and instead more like a mythic creature resting on its stolen throne, turned tubby from her own indulgence, but losing none of her queenliness.

            Joanne was a monster, just like Roberta, and today she'd finally been given societal permission to show her real colors.

            While he was grateful to be currently perched in his mother's hands rather than jammed rectum-deep in her bum like his fellow sufferer, Kyle knew it would only be so long before his own horny caretaker started getting fresh ideas, gleaning inspiration from Joanne in return for the philosophies Roberta had so freely given, and in doing so, turned Tommy's once-promising life into a sweat-tinged gaseous purgatory. Meanwhile, the therapist's advice still hung over Kyle like a storm cloud.

            "Oooh, is that your arm, sweetie?" Joanne shrilled, bouncing in her seat and causing her portly natural cushioning to wobble anew. She daintily placed a hand over her mouth, muting some irrepressible chuckles. "Just where do ya think you're reaching there? My, my, what a naughty little boy I've been raising after all. I knew he was in there somewhere. Just like you'll get to be in me somewhere now. Someone has some real kinks, no doubt about it! Not that I'm complaining..."

            This latest update on Tommy's apparent handsiness earned some entertained titters from all the other women, including the therapist, who at last raised a hand to bring order to the meeting, long after attentions had run off the rails and slipped up Joanne's ass crack.

            "All right, all right now," the moderator sighed, approvingly shaking her head at the whole circle. "Let's just take a moment and settle ourselves before we dive any deeper into these very-important issues. After all, there's still plenty of session left."

            "Actually, this may have been all we needed to get started," Roberta coyly admitted, combing her frizzy locks back over her ear. She fondled Kyle's cranium like foreplaying a dormant cockhead. "Really, we can't thank you enough for the treatment plan, and personally, I'm not sure I can wait much longer... neither can Kyle, deep down... to start testing out those marvelous ideas you gave us."

            "I second that!" Joanne practically bellowed. Looking to one another in almost-spiritual recognition of the motherly bond they'd formed through their shared beliefs, the pair of hyper-tall pear-bottomed women lurched out of their chairs and made their way for the door with a wave goodbye to the rest of their enthusiastic peers. The therapist, sporting a glint in her eye that suggested she had seen this decision coming, quietly smiled and bid them farewell.

            Kyle was planted back in his mother's boulder cleavage and nestled snugly in place. They marched behind Joanne and Tommy, which meant the six-inch tit-swaddled boy had to endure witnessing the pendulum-sway of this husky six-foot-four behemoth, and worse, know that interred at the center of that vast tush was an eighteen-year-old husk of a shrunken male much like himself. Joanne, obviously just as eager as Roberta to put this highly educational session into action, moved with some spring in her stride. Passing through the door, Kyle saw the woman's left cheek swung too far off-center, its blimp-like mass rebounding off the jamb and rattling the walls without so much as stunting Joanne's gait.